Tarahumara LLGBL
by gleeglee
Summary: The Chemist dreams of a future atrocity - can he find the clues needed to prevent it from happening?


**Tarahumara (LLGBL)**

I'm waiting on a subway platform when my train roars by without stopping. Flashing past, I see each carriage is full of flames, the passengers' faces in tortured tableaux at the windows. Their screams mesh with the metal on metal careering through the tunnel. I look away and catch the electronic overhead sign in the corner of my eye - the train's destination over six digits divided into twos by dots into today's date, and I wake.

'My first natural dream in a very long time' I'm telling Mohinder. 'I've had it three times so far.'

'And you've dreamt of nothing else?'

'Nothing.'

'Poor sod.'

'Maybe the subway system here has jogged memories of the transportation system in Mombasa' I chuckle. I'm in Singapore, where the subway is a punctual, priceless asset. 'Maybe my mind is telling me not to go back!'

'Oh, does the dream take place in Mombasa?'

Mohinder is a Chemist in training, svelte, designing his own totem as he talks, some kind of origami swan. Elsewhere in the University's quiet cafe a group of Chinese students muck about taking photos before manipulating them on a Mac.

''No, it's definitely London.'

'And this dream disturbs you why? Do you see it as some kind of omen?'

'Yes, silly as it sounds. I feel I'm being teased with the digital numbers on the sign cos that's when I wake up, every single time.'

'Hm hm.'

'To be honest, it's one of my weaknesses. I haven't been trained to read in dreams. That's an Extractor's job.'

'Well, it is virtually impossible to read in any dream other than one self-induced. The mind can't take it.'

'But there must be a way. I know the infiltration process heightens awareness but surely there's a way to do that in a normal state?'

'Try when you get back to Mombasa. See what happens. It can't hurt. But ask yourself why you want to do this - just to read that date?'

'I don't believe in prophetic dreams, especially now even dreams aren't necessarily an act of God.' I said that a little too defensively.

'I mean', he explains, 'your dream is an act of God. Putting yourself under won't necessarily mean you'll relive it. Think about the logic.'

'I don't know Mohinder. Logic seems to be long gone nowadays.'

* * *

_Mombasa_

I feel my way by hand down the steps lost in shadow. I've lost my sight, my feet, the walls around me, but I keep walking.

My coughs stifle the Elder, who opens up the archaic gate below to see who goes there. The light is a welcome relief, calming the heart, however dim and small. He seems to have forgotten my request, to join the shared dreamers lined up like bottles in a wine cellar in hammocks, dead to the world.

I join them to have all the time in the world to chase my dream. I join the undead for the sake of six digits.

'For the sake of the world' joked Mohinder.

* * *

Just by the cacophony I know I'm back in China for Lunar New Year. Gail from California is at my side and we're both looking up at the sky littered with fireworks, masking the satellite gridlock in outer space. I take her hand. The sound around us is deafening, my eyes turning to white.

I'm back in the water below the bridge, but no Édith Piaf to wake me up to the surface. I drag myself up, seaweeds like chains around my ankles.

I'm in the carriage. My projections are on fire. I keep telling myself that they're just projections, this is unreality, feeling for the totem in my pocket as I scramble up against the doors away from the screaming bodies on fire, running into each other, mindlessly travelling from end to end with no escape.

The inhumanity is still real.

I see others use this most minimal of spaces for cover but soon they're in flames, infected, and I see us pass through a station, and so does a fiery soul, who lunges at me for the doors that will never open.

Awake, I heave myself out of the hammock onto my feet and patter out of the room, drenched in sweat.

I swear I hear the Elder chuckle to himself.

* * *

I'm at Chinese New Year again.

I'm in a childhood dream again, looking up at the sky from my bedroom window and seeing the whole Milky Way has descended into the night sky, fear of God intermingled with my awe.

I'm waiting on a subway platform when hell's train roars by without stopping. I look to my side at the electronic sign but I can't fix my eyes on the digits and letters.

Me and the other waiting commuters are pushed to the floor all of a sudden - we're besieged by armed men in calaca masks, roaring at us to stay down and nothing more in broken English. I feel for my totem.

The tiny crystal skull sits in my hand as I sit up in the dark, shirtless. The Elder eyes me. I ignore him, think of the Mesoamericans who used to drill holes into their head for enlightenment.

'What are you doing here?' he asks.

What am I doing here? I can't see the future. I am just a Chemist, nothing more.

'I'm not sure. If it's fine, I need more time here.'

'Time is a joke in your head' the Elder smiles.

* * *

I'm in the water, thinking about what he said.

In China, I tell Gail again how I envy her, for she can still dream.

I'm walking through a tunnel, rats at my feet, like a Pied Piper.

I'm waiting on a subway platform when my train roars by without stopping. Flashing past, I see each carriage is full of flames, the passengers' faces in tortured tableaux at the windows. Their screams mesh with the metal on metal careering through the tunnel. I look away and catch the electronic overhead sign in the corner of my eye - the train's destination over six digits divided into twos by dots into today's date, and I read it, take it in. Destination: Cannon Street.

Staying on my back, I dig out my pen from beside my totem to scrawl the date on the back of my hand.

I read the numbers and feel my elation plunge into disappointment.

* * *

'So what did you find?' Mohinder asks on Skype.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'Almost nothing. But I trained myself, somehow.'

'And what of the date?'

I close the fridge and return to my MacBook.

'It was in the past' I shrug, sheepish. 'Some random numbers. 19.06.09.'

Mohinder's laughing.

'Oh my, where is your mind Yusuf?'

'Goodnight Mohinder. Haven't you got books to be reading?'

* * *

Reading a text on dream alchemy, Mohinder found himself nodding off in the oppressive Singapore heat, worried about the long-term effects of playing with the mind. And there he saw it, hidden in one of the paragraphs, the 19th of June, 2009, the day the world woke up to the new reality of dream invasion.


End file.
